


A Terrible, Competent Ass

by mssrj_335



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Badass Finn (Star Wars), Competence Kink, Finn is Good at Things, Finn is Not a Virgin (Star Wars), M/M, POV Finn (Star Wars), Poe Dameron Needs Some Water, Poe Dameron Never Knows When to Shut Up, Poe Dameron likes Orders, Semi-Public Blow Jobs, Sparring, Teasing, Trash Talk, he thirsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23100556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: Finn's training recruits for the Resistance and Poe's been watching him. His latest batch of trainees is ready for hand to hand finals and Finn has an idea on how to get hand to...hand with Poe.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 10
Kudos: 197





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> whooooo here we are  
> back at my love affair with long sentences, semicolons, and hyphens  
> self-edited per ushe
> 
> i'm not superb at writing action, hopefully it's passable
> 
> split into two parts, doesn't get explicit rating until chapter 2

It’s been six months since the battle of Crait and he’s training recruits. He’s not exactly sure how it came about but he distinctly remembers Poe vouching for him in that sly way of his. The General seemed to agree so he trains cadets. And, if the track record is anything to go by, his recruits can outperform some Resistance veterans; a small, vicious piece of pride he keeps mostly to himself.

But, for six months, Poe’s been watching him and Finn thinks he’s finally figured out why.

The first few times it happens, he doesn’t think much of it. Maybe Poe wants to critique him, make sure his technique is as good as he thought it was.

That’s what he guesses. At first, anyway.

Maybe Poe doesn’t think he is doing a good job? When he asks if Poe would rather train them, the pilot says, “No! No, you’re way too good at this. Like _way_ good,” in a tight, low voice. When he asks for feedback, Poe just says, “You did great, buddy,” with something dark and hungry in his eyes.

Then he starts paying more attention.

Turns out, Poe likes to watch him work. Sometimes Poe watches _him_ the entire time, doesn’t even spare the recruits a glance except to congratulate them at the end of the day. Sometimes Poe starts relaxed, leaned back and legs spread nonchalantly, only to end up crossed over himself ten different ways like it’s all he can do to keep it together.

If Finn didn’t know any better, he’d call it lust.

Or, at least, that what he hopes it is.

They’ve been dancing around _something_ since their near escape and Finn’s about ready to explode with it.

So today he’s hatching a plan.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t call this showing off?” Rey asks.

Again.

In fact, it's the third time she’s asked that week. She’s onto him, he knows it. Having a Jedi for a friend is a dangerous game. He could probably tell her but the teasing would be merciless. Finn wraps sparring tape around his hands and glares halfheartedly at her where she’s slouched against the armory door.

“No, I don’t,” he grouses. She raises an eyebrow and her mouth quirks into a shape that’s half amused and half exasperated. “I’m just training cadets. No ulterior motives here.”

“Uh huh, then exactly why did you decide to do hand to hand finals the day Poe is free to _participate_?”

“ _Maybe_ I value his input. Besides, I think they'll benefit from seeing a new stance model," he says, deliberately glaring at her now. "Just head on out, he won't mind to help with the last lesson."

Rey laughs and it’s light and musical, easing some of the defensiveness from his shoulders. She straightens and claps a hand on his arm as he leaves.

“All I’m saying is if you want Poe to be impressed, you don’t really need to do anything extra. You could just ask him, you know.” Her eyes sparkle as she steps away but something in his gut wobbles. He pretends not to hear the last part.

“That’s not what this is about,” he scoffs, even though that’s patently false.

Rey rolls her eyes and darts away before he can smack her. “Yeah, sure!” she calls over her shoulder. “Whatever you say, Big Deal.”

Finn’s cheeks burn and he groans a little. He debates a second on whether or not to follow her and return that jibe but ends up striding the opposite direction to the sparring mats.

This is his job, his little _side_ _plan_ isn’t obvious.

He hopes.

Now, he steps in front of his newest squad and rolls his shoulders. There’s a crowd gathered around the sparring mats, watching and waiting. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Poe in his usual spot. Crowds always make his cadets nervous. Sloppy. Something to use to his advantage, at least, but never a point of pride. He has a feeling this bunch will do the worst: they're young still and lack focus. But, seven eager faces look at him with nervous energy so it’s time to start.

“We’ll start field exercises _if_ you deserve it,” he says, stretching his arms above his head. He turns just enough so he can see Poe fully but doesn’t look at him just yet. “This is your chance to prove it.”

Cadet Nej rolls his eyes. “Why do we need to prove hand to hand if we’ve got blasters? I mean, it’s pretty easy to shoot something.”

“If you think you’re never gonna lose your blaster, you must be a fucking idiot,” he remarks lightly, stretching each leg. He chances a glance at Poe and finds him staring. He grins, just enough to let Poe know he’s caught. Rey is smirking behind Poe but he’s too pleased at the way Poe squirms to care.

Nej crosses his arms and rolls his eyes again, sharing a look with his twin Zala.

“This is your final hand to hand training,” he says, rolling his shoulders one more time and settling into an easy stance. “Your objective: beat me.” It's not _actually_ their real test but it's always a learning experience. He levels Nej and the other recruits with a neutral look. “This is your chance, hotshots. Show me what you got.”

He doesn’t usually trash talk—it’s not a good motivator—but today he’s feeling brash.

There may be seven cadets but three weeks of training is a drop in the bucket comparatively.

_Definitely showing off._

“You’ve got sixty seconds,” he says, then he dashes forward.

Cadet Lin is closest, not at all prepared. Finn’s shoulder meets Lin’s hip, and he tosses him like a sack of potatoes. He’s breathless on the mat before the other react but at least they’re paying attention now.

The crowd starts cheering, egging them on.

Two lunge toward him, fists flailing. They’re fast but _fuck_ did they forget a lot. He pops Cadet Daro behind the knee, wraps an arm around his neck as he falls. Zala’s fist connects with Daro’s gut instead of Finn’s; the air leaves him in a rush and he drops. Finn’s grabs Zala on the rebound, pulls her off balance and she crashes into Tryn striking from the side. Nej gets smart—he _is_ Finn’s best/worst cadet—and jumps him from behind.

Easy out, though.

Finn goes dead weight and rolls, smashing Nej on the mat. Lin's finally gotten his feet back, darting forward with Utri and Sama to catch Finn as he rises. Someone’s strike finds its mark somewhere below his shoulder, but it's not accurate enough to do more than burn a bit. If they work together they could actually beat him but they haven't trained together long, don't know each other well. They forget and go individual, which proves to be an awful plan. He strikes twice quick, absorbs a punch, throws a hook and kicks forward, all the while careful not to hurt them.

It's a matter of seconds until each cadet is winded on the floor.

"Good try," he grants, panting just a bit; his body burns but it’s pleasant. His eyes flicker to Poe and finds that, yes, he has tied himself in knots again. He’s biting his lip, sitting on his hands. Something hot and pleased sears Finn's gut but he puts his hands on his hips and stares down at his recruits, still trying to be the teacher. "So what'd we learn?"

Seven faces look up at him sheepishly. He doesn't expect an answer; they did just get their asses handed to them. Instead, he helps them to their feet and pairs them up for their real, bracket-style exam. He keeps half his attention on their form and the other on the crowd. Most of the mass stays as the recruits duke it out in 45-45-45 drills, watching them instead of him.

There's only one exception and Finn feels pretty confident his idea is a good one.

\--

He waits, patient as a snake, until the exam is done and nearly everyone is gone. The recruits hobble to the edge of the mat, tired and bruised but no worse for wear. Poe is still watching, arms and legs crossed.

"You all did great," he says, and he means it. "You've come along way in three weeks but there's always room for improvement. There were a few stances I noticed _all_ of you botched. _Commander Dameron,"_ he says a little louder, "is going to help me demonstrate, right buddy?"

Poe's eyes go wide as saucers and Finn grins to himself.

"Uh sure, yeah!" Poe says as he gets to his feet, scrubbing his palms on his trousers unconsciously. The recruits part as he bounds up the mat. They might not be able to tell but Finn feels the air practically vibrating with his energy. "Don't you usually have Rey for this?"

"Yeah, but I thought they'd do better seeing someone who's _not_ training all the time," he smiles easily. "Show me back stance."

"Hey, c'mon now, pilots don't _need_ to brawl--"

Finn levels him a teasing look. "If you don't think pilots need to fight, you're a fucking idiot."

The cadets giggle and Poe pouts, cheeks a little rosier than they were. Finn steps into his space, settling his hand in the small of Poe's back. He hides it well but there's no way Finn can miss the little shiver slithering through him. _Stars, he hopes he's right about this._

"Be good, Commander," he warns, letting his voice burn some of the heat he's feeling. Poe shudders fully this time; Finn's almost positive he's right about this. "Now, show me back stance."

With a gentle push, he tilts Poe forward. Poe balances his weight on his left foot, turns and extends his right behind him, clenching his hands so tight in position his knuckles turn white. Finn takes a step back, eyes appraising, body taunting, and tisks.

"This is the stance I saw from all of you today. Can anyone tell me what's wrong with it?"

His trainees are silent until one speaks up. "He's off-center, too far forward." It's Daro he thinks, but he's not really paying attention.

"Correct," Finn praises anyway. He settles his fingers somewhere around Poe's hips, feeling more than hearing the sharp breath he sucks in. With purposeful hands, he twists Poe's chest toward him. Poe's eyes are dark and he bites the inside of his cheek. "The whole point of back stance is to keep your core safe, to be balanced," he continues, letting his hands slide up Poe's chest, pushing his weight back until he reaches his elbows.

He pulls Poe's arms up and steps in tight. The heat radiating off Poe's body seeps between them when he inches his boot behind Poe's and pulls his left foot forward. "You don't want your weight forward until you're well out of reach. You're gonna eat it if someone catches you."

He's not even looking at the cadets now. _Which is fine_ , he thinks. That's not the point anymore, anyway. He circles around Poe, pretending professionalism despite the hand trailing from Poe's elbow to his shoulder.

"Knees bent, so you're ready to move."

He presses down on Poe's shoulders until the pilot is in a practically perfect position. Poe holds supremely still, except his eyes. They're wide and hungry, flitting between Finn's eyes and his mouth. Finn experiments, tightens his grip minutely; Poe's lids flutter.

Then he seems to remember his mouth works.

"So you're gonna have time to get your feet right when someone clocks you?" He's motionless but still full of sass, which honestly Finn had been hoping for. The cadets snicker and Finn grins. "'Oh, hold on, lemme get my stance, don't hit me yet.' Seriously? Just punch the guy.”

His mouth may be smart but he still hasn't moved out the position Finn's put him in and that makes the ember in his stomach expand into something hungrier, something fiery. Finn prowls in front of Poe. 

“Try it then, flyboy,” Finn taunts. He knows whatever his face looks like must be a little dangerous because his trainees immediately stop their tittering.

Poe’s lips part but he doesn’t look a bit sorry. Or scared. In fact, the look that spreads across his face is downright filthy.

"Sure you wanna go down in front of your recruits?"

If that's not a dirty clue there then Finn really is ready to eat mat.

"Bet." Finn puts his hands up and falls into an easy, loose position, feet set wide, knees bent. "Three seconds and you're on your back."

Poe finally shakes out of Finn’s posture. "I'll take that," he says, adjusting into a bad-habit stance he obviously prefers. "If I win?"

Finn snorts. " _If_ you win, you get bragging rights and you get to train the recruits." His cadets cheer at that, which makes him laugh. "And if he does win, _you_ don't have to run drills tomorrow," he says pointedly.

"What if you win?" Poe asks, starting to hop back and forth.

He smirks, tilts his head, and gives Poe a once-over. "If I win," he says, pauses for just a moment, hoping he's chosen his words right, "then you're on your back."

The cadets miss his double entendre but it's obvious Poe doesn't. He sucks in a breath and bites his lip.

"Deal," he breathes.

Finn tries not to show his hands shaking in anticipation.

"Ready?"

Poe only gets a single nod out before Finn strikes left of Poe's face. He's not throwing hard, just enough to get him on his toes, and he counts, "One."

He jabs again, hooks around Poe's neck, pulls. Poe's blocking but he stumbles forward a step.

"Two."

His hook fakes, slides down Poe's back, and he darts in for the knees. Poe's hands scrabble at his back when he lifts him but in a heartbeat, Poe hits the mat, sprawling.

"Three."

He hears the cadets groan but it barely registers. He's landed on his knees between Poe's legs, hands planted on either side of him, their hips slotted together, and Poe's looking at him like he's already taking his clothes off.

"I win."

There's a heated moment when he thinks Poe might just throw caution to the wind and start stripping right there. Poe's hands clench around his forearms and there's _definitely_ something hot and hard pressing against his hip.

"Cheater," Poe pants, breathing harder than he should be.

Finn takes a second longer than he should to admire the edge Poe's teetering on before he pulls himself up and away. He barely hears the sigh escape Poe's lips when he reaches down to help him to his feet but he certainly feels the way the pilot's fingers linger around his wrist. If the way Poe shoves his hands into his trouser pockets is any indication, he needs to dismiss class, like _now_.

He smirks at his cadets and decides to drag it out, just a bit. "Guess you guys lose," he says, spreading his hands nonchalantly, unwrapping the tape slowly. The group groans again but start getting to their feet.

"If that little demo doesn't convince you that a fast mouth--" He side-eyes Poe who's growing antsier by the second. "--isn't enough to get you out of trouble, you're not learning." They seem properly mollified, shuffling on the mat. "Say thank you to the commander for being good sport and proving my point," he says, clapping Poe's arm with a squeeze. "See you at 0600 for drills." 

The recruits muddle their way through some thank yous. As soon as the last one is out the door, Poe grabs his hand and starts running toward the armory. Finn's all too happy to let himself be dragged along.

"I'm _so glad_ that worked," he laughs, loud and bright.


	2. Chapter 2

He barely gets the door shut and locked before Poe's on him, shoving him to the wall. He's hot and hungry and already running his mouth.

" _Stars_ , you're such an _ass._ A terrible, competent _ass_ ,” Poe gasps, shoving tongue in Finn’s mouth and his hands down the back of Finn's pants and squeezing his point. The slide of his lips is wet, filthy, and Finn chases him until he can’t breathe.

” _I’m_ not the one who talks a bigger game than he can play,” he pants, sinking his teeth into that tendon that teased him for _months,_ wraps Poe in his arms and catches his shiver.

"You bastard, you totally cheated--" Poe chokes as he sucks a dark mark into his skin. "I wasn't ready."

Finn groans and Poe bucks against him, but he doesn't let go. “Not cheating—If you trained like you're supposed to, you wouldn't be surprised.”

Part of him is still teasing but a bigger part is rapidly losing the ability to string two words together. There’s pressure and heat swirling somewhere near the base of his spine, almost aching. Poe’s hands slide up under his shirt, popping buttons, grip his shoulders and, distracted, he lets Finn get a knee between his legs. It's lightning fast; one sweep he's twisting, hiking Poe's legs up around his waist, switching their positions. Poe hits the wall with a thump and a moan so deep in his chest it reverberates through him straight to Finn’s cock. His head falls back and he rolls his hips and _fuck_ he grinds Poe into the wall with probably more force than is strictly necessary. Why isn’t this his bed, for stars’ sake?

“Ah, _Finn_ , fuck—” Poe’s gasping and squirming, rutting shamelessly with all their clothes still on.

“I’m trying,” he whines, _fucking whines_ , when Poe’s fingernails score the skin on his shoulders. “Did you have to pick the armory? We should—”

“If you even _think_ of stopping, I will never forgive you.”

There’s no real threat though—it’s a breathy, desperate demand—and it makes Finn chuckle, dark and greedy. “So difficult…” But, it sounds like enthusiastic consent to him, so time for Plan B.

He may have been a stormtrooper but this isn’t his first time. Finn prides himself on being good. The best. And he wants this to be so good for Poe. Even if he keeps that little fact to himself. He eases Poe’s boots back to the floor, fingers fumbling until he can shove Poe’s trousers over the curve of his ass and finally _finally_ see him bare. Poe’s cock is red and thick, cut, drooling with arousal, and Finn can’t fucking _wait_ to get him in his mouth.

“You know,” he says, voice burning again as he sinks to his knees, fitting his hands over Poe’s thighs, “this wasn’t part of the bet.” Poe’s panting, hips rocking in tiny, furtive motions so Finn tightens his grip. “Do I still get to have you later?”

It’s teasing but he’s a little vulnerable with it. He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses into Poe’s stomach, his hips, and sighs partly in relief when Poe breathes, “Are you kidding? You can have me any time, anywhere, on my back on my front any _position_ sweetheart, just _please_ —“

Poe locks a hand in his hair, unconsciously dragging him closer. There’s a scorching, lingering suspicion lurking in his head; he has to try it. Even if he’s gagging for him, Finn nips the soft skin in the crook of Poe’s hip, holds his bare ass firm against the wall, and says,

“Be good, Commander.”

It grates out of his throat, blistering, but he exercises control. Finn didn’t think it was possible to get any harder than he already is until Poe whimpers and trembles and Finn has to take a deep breath so he doesn’t lose it right there. He looks up at Poe through his lashes—he’s still squirming—and tightens his grip to bruising.

“Can you be still.”

It’s not a question and Finn shivers with delight when Poe gasps out, “ _Ok_ , ok, whatever you say, baby,” and goes pliant under his hands.

And oh, _oh_ that begging tone pushes Finn over the edge. His control snaps and he swallows Poe down as far as he can, wraps his fingers around the base of Poe’s cock. He takes more than he should have—he’s sloppy—but Poe is hot on his tongue and begging for it.

“ _Finn_ , stars you’re so good, I knew you would be, oh _fuck_ , just like that please please—”

He tries to focus, to apply just the right pressure and suction and touch but all he can focus on is Poe babbling above him. He moans, the vibration rattling in his teeth, laves his tongue down the underside of Poe’s cock and around the head. Poe’s praise goes straight to his dick but he doesn’t deign to touch himself; he can’t. Not when Poe sounds like, _looks like_ he does right now. He has to keep his hands on Poe’s hips or he’s sure he’ll shatter.

“Sweetheart…“ Poe chokes. He can feel tensing in Poe’s stomach, his thighs, and he moans again in what he hopes in an encouraging tone.

“ _Finn,_ hah, ah!”

His whole body stiffens, and he’s pulsing down Finn’s throat in hot waves, trembling, biting into his fist to silence himself. It doesn’t work very well, he’s still a supernova of sound, and Finn wrings the orgasm out of him until Poe’s hand finds its way to his shoulder and pushes at him gently.

Finn lets Poe slide from his mouth with one loud _pop_ and finally loosens his grip. His knees hurt, his fingers aching from their grip, throat raw, cock still throbbing and untouched, but none of it seems to matter with the way Poe’s looking at him now. His eyes are glazed, chest heaving and knees wobbling. Finn gets to his feet and wraps Poe in his arms as he twitches through the last ripples of pleasure. More satisfied than he should rightly be, Finn presses a kiss to Poe’s curls.

“Do you have to be good at _everything_?” Poe pants, accusing, fingers tracing their way up to dig into the muscle of Finn’s chest.

It’s a tease; apparently even in post-orgasm haze, Poe still has a smart mouth.

“It’s not a competition,” he snorts against Poe’s hair. _I’ll just have to try harder next time_ , he thinks.

“It certainly _fucking_ is,” Poe retorts like he heard that thought, knees reconstituting, hands hungry again. Finn laughs and holds him tight.

“Best two out of three?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm actually kinda proud of that whew


End file.
